Sleepwalking Hunter 3: The Aftermath Continued
by meg7200
Summary: Shawn Hunter never dreamed he'd find more to life than the suffering he was dealt. Now, the taste of a new start with Jonathon has Shawn eager to bury the past. But with his abusive father's trial looming, the memory of his perverse and bloodless brother, and a mysterious stalker re-instilling a barely mollified fear, Shawn's sleepwalking stubbornly persists !NEW NAME BUT IM BACK!
1. Chapter 1

NOW I MUST REALLY OFFER A SINCERE APOLOGY... IT IS STRANGE BUT MY ACCOUNT WAS DISABLED AND I AM UNABLE TO GO ON IT ANYMORE. SINCE I HAVE BEEN BUSY WITH SCHOOL I DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF TIME TO LOOK INTO IT, BUT I'VE FINALLY FOUND SOME TIME. I'VE MADE A NEW ACCOUNT SIMILAR TO MY OLD ONE... I WAS MEG7100 NOW I'M MEG7200 (CREATIVE I KNOW) AND I WILL PICK UP MY STORY WHERE I LEFT OFF JUST AS THE THIRD EDITION TO WHAT HAS BECOME A TRILOGY. I HOPE NOBODY HAS ANY TROUBLE FINDING THE STORY AND YOU ALL FORGIVE ME! I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT IT WAS VERY FRUSTRATING. ANYWAYS HERE IS MY NEXT INSTALLMENT AND THERE IS MUCH MORE TO COME! I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU HANGING.

BTW... I'm sorry I updated my rough copy just before this. I had some trouble uploading the version I first prepared and had to upload a whole new copy. I forgot that on this one I hadn't explained myself. I also included page breaks. Thanks for letting me know!

ENJOY!

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><p>Chris wiped his sleeve across his forehead, releasing a low groan. He had been folded uncomfortably in the passenger seat, quite literally baking in the police cruiser for almost two hours. He finally knew what it was like to be benched.<p>

He made the call to act alone when a scared teenaged girl, who thought that her boyfriend was being abused, visited him. With several 9-1-1 calls from neighbours and injury reports on the minor, Chris assumed it'd be an easy arrest. The noise coming from the apartment was enough to make a complaint, but Chris knew the breaks of silence were the most lethal.

He kicked in the door, technically before he heard the scream, but justified nonetheless. For a brief second he was fazed by the feeling of déjà vu, expecting to be bursting into Nicky's apartment, despite the door not falling off its hinges. Still, Chris felt sandbagged into a state of familiarity. That is until he got to the other side of that door. Not only was no one being hurt, but Chris suddenly fell victim to what his eyes laid on.

There were two young men stark naked in front of him: one on top of the other in a position that was so unforgiving to Chris' bare eyes.

"The only crime being committed at apartment D37 is underage sex." Chris told his very furious captain over the phone. "No, I'm not insane! I heard screaming, the kid said her boyfriend was being abused: I had probable cause!"

Chris lowered the phone from his ear and even when he mimicked chucking the thing out of the stadium, he could still hear the Captain's rage-filled roaring. When Chris replaced the phone to his ear, he caught the last bit. "– the whole department look bad! You yelled they were disgusting!"

Chris gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean because they're gay! It just slipped out! I was caught off guard, Cap'n."

"You trying to cause a scandal? They're lodging a complaint. The parents are involved now and now I'm two detectives short because of incompetence!"

"EXCUSE ME?!" Unsure of whether he was more pissed off about being called incompetent himself or his emotionally disabled partner, Chris chose a standard boil-up to suffice. It made little difference.

Back at the station, Chris yelled with the Captain until he was hoarse. He could've quit, in fact he did at least twice. The Captain, unable to afford sending him home, put him with Conseiko – the most likely candidate to become next Captain, most likely because he was Captain's son-in-law.

This is why Chris found himself accordion style in the front seat of Conseiko's miniature Chevy Cavalier. Not like he'd ever wondered, but he finally understood how his Yorkie felt when he and Emily left him behind while they went shopping.

When Conseiko returned from canvassing a neighbourhood that wouldn't talk to police if they were paid, he revelled at the chance to blame Chris. "Y'know this would be a whole lot easier if you were helpin' me, Rivera."

"And why's that? Because it's a black neighbourhood and I'm …oh, black?" Chris mused.

The Latin-American detective grimaced. "You're playin' the race card? Really, man? You're the homophobe who got yourself into this mess. You can grab your own shovel and dig yourself out. Don't drag me down with you, man."

Chris rolled his eyes, cranking his window down, rigidly, in hopes of deterring any further conversation.

Conseiko didn't take the bait, merely changing the subject. "So, you're partner, man. That's some rough shit."

"Shut up, Jacob." Chris was seething.

"C'mon, I'm just being nice. I like Nicky. His old man showed me where to go for a good slice." He finally started the ignition and cut off traffic, reversing his parallel park. "So he had a meltdown, eh?"

Sure that his teeth would be grounded down to nothing by the end of the day, Chris growled, "Nick didn't have a meltdown, you spineless little fuck. He's having knee surgery from all the years of having the highest case closure rates in the department and cleaning up after you shit the bed! And if I find out you're spreading rumours about him, I'll rip you from your shitty little car by your scrawny little neck and beat your ass into next week!"

Conseiko was quiet for at least a minute. His burning face had reduced only slightly when he eventually retorted. "Maybe you're not a homophobe, Rivera."

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><p>Jonathon shut the door after a long lingering goodbye to Elizabeth. There were so many things wrong with the way he felt towards her that he could not even bear to think about or name those feelings. His responsibility to Shawn rendered him romantically incapacitated and even if they didn't, Jonathon would steer those desires away.<p>

He picked up Shawn's sweatshirt off the floor by the chair he'd been sitting in and instead of tossing it onto the sofa, he found himself taking a page out of his mother's book, as he folded it neatly. He trudged across the carpet, resting in Shawn's doorway with a racing heart.

"Holy, Hunter! You scared me!" He clutched the sweatshirt to his chest, peering down at the teenager in front of him. "What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were out cold."

Shawn shrugged, almost absently. He was dressed in pyjamas and that was the only indicator that he'd obeyed Jonathon at all when he sent him to bed. His hair was – well, Jonathon wouldn't say neat – but certainly not at its usual state, being so prone to mimicking that of a bird's nest. No, Jonathon was justified in believing exactly what he feared.

"Were you eavesdropping on mine and Elizabeth's conversation?" Jonathon cocked an eyebrow, wishing his response to Shawn's misbehaviour could be as simple as a scolding.

Shawn hesitated, which was at least something. Jonathon never thought about how hard it would be to enforce authority on someone who only ever submitted by force. "I…uh, I heard what Miss. Barclay said, Jon."

"Shawn, I would've liked to tell you myself." Jonathon started, shocked when Shawn cut him off.

"I heard what you said, too."

Jonathon couldn't remember what that was. "What?"

"I'm sorry I've been a bad kid, Jon. I don't have anyone else, y'know. Mom and Dad were never nice to me like you are. I just wanna say thanks." Shawn spoke to his hole-y socks, but his message was loud and clear.

"Come here, kiddo." Jonathon wrapped the boy in his arms, feeling the weight melt off his shoulders. He felt the kid's skinny body fall into him and his hands clasp together, his arms around Jonathon's waist. "It's okay, buddy. Alright?" He carded his fingers through Shawn's hair. "I'm sorry I got tough with ya. We just gotta start listening to each other. Am I right?"

He felt Shawn nod against his chest and he pulled him back to make an impression. "And talking to each other, Shawn."

The teenager smirked. "You just wanna be right."

"I'm always right." Jonathon chuckled. "Alright, get to bed. It's way passed my bedtime."

"It sure is, old man."

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><p>Nicky stood in shock, drowning in the causatum of his father's outburst. He watched the man disappear into the den, which was when he felt Carlo's hand on his shoulder.<p>

"It's okay, Nick. That wasn't directed at you. Here, have a seat." Carlo assured him, steering his older brother into a chair.

Nicky showed his distaste for the action too late. "I'm fine, Carlo. I'm not a china doll."

Carlo spun around the chair adjacent to Nicky and straddled it. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Sure looks like it," but Nicky let it slide.

"I'm serious, Carlo. I'm not up for whatever you're about to say."

Carlo muttered something else unintelligible and then slapped the table with purpose. "I gotta go pick up Matty."

Nicky felt dread at even the idea of a full house in combination with his condition.

"Wanna come?"

Nicky wasn't expecting it. "When I crashed my Buick in '85, you promised me I'd never even sit in one of your cars. Your statement's held true so far, Carlo, don't tell me you're a liar."

"I only said that because you wouldn't let me drive yours!" Carlo grinned.

"You were fifteen! Pop would've killed me, you little shit."

Carlo stood and rubbed his oil slick hands on a tea towel. "Come on, mini road trip. The Adams brothers against the world. Just like old times! What do you say?"

"Old times? Who's childhood are you talkin' about?" Nicky couldn't resist a smirk.

"If you play your cards right, Nicky, I'll let you have dibs on beatin' up Matty all the way home."


	2. Chapter 2

THANKS FOR YOUR REVIEWS! THEY REALLY MADE ME HAPPY! I'D FORGOTTEN HOW NICE IT FEELS TO PUBLISH MY WORK AND HOW MUCH I LOVE WRITING.

ANYWAYS, HERE'S ANOTHER CHAPTER FOR YOU! I WANT TO HAVE A CHRISTMAS CHAPTER UP HERE, TOO. I'VE GOT SOME IDEAS FOR IT, SO HOPEFULLY I GET IT DONE WITHIN THE NEXT FEW DAYS, MOST LIKELY NOT ON CHRISTMAS, BUT PROBABLY BEFORE THE NEW YEAR.

SO MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE IN CASE I CAN'T POST BEFORE THE OFFICIAL HOLIDAY. I HOPE YOU ALL HAVE A SAFE AND BLESSED HOLIDAY AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR WITH ALL YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY!

XOXO MEG 3

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><p>It takes two hours and twenty minutes to get from Jersey City to New Haven, Connecticut. Nicky had never felt like less of a cop than when he stared down the I-95 with Carlo in the driver's seat, having covered more than 50 miles in under an hour. Nicky was too afraid to look at the barometer, but his nauseated stomach was evidence enough of their high speed.<p>

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught Carlo's attention.

"What are you looking at?" Carlo raised an eyebrow, peering into his rear-view mirror to see for himself.

"Just checking to see if anyone's chasing us."

"Why would someone be…" Carlo trailed off, realizing Nicky's sarcasm. He gave him a shove and a tight-lipped smirk, but otherwise did nothing to demonstrate he'd taken Nicky's complaint to heart.

Nicky gripped the door handle while his younger brother weaved around two cars. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Carlo, appearing on the 5 o'clock news in a high-speed police chase will not get me my job back! Do you understand?"

"Relax, Nick! I've been driving like this since my feet could reach the pedals!" He shot Nicky a look. "So have you!"

Nicky grasped the back of his brother's seat, his eyes accidentally laying on the barometer. "Carlo, you're doing 130 mph! Are you insane?! I didn't even have to go over 110 when I took down a serial killer on the Pennsylvania interstate last year!"

"Did he have his victim in the car?"

"Why?"

Carlo licked his lip, pensively, and answered him with a shrug. "Well, because he'd be trying to blend in if he had his victim with him."

Nicky flashed his raised eyebrows in his direction. "The fact that you know that terrifies me." He asserted, shifting his weight in attempt to relax his tense muscles. "Just don't get yourself arrested. I'm in no position to call in any favours."

_Nicky could hardly stand being in the car a second longer. His legs were stiff, his little brothers wouldn't stop whining, and he was feeling pain in a place that he didn't want to think about. _

_The young family was on their way to the airport to see their mother off. Her aunt had died in Sicily and she was returning home for the funeral, so it wasn't exactly a cheery outing already, but Nicky had good reason to believe they'd never get there._

_A 6-year-old Matthew hugged a bear to his little chest, his cheeks flushed and tear stained from agitation. An 11-year-old Carlo couldn't seem to stop flicking the younger boy's ear and it took only seconds for Matthew's wailing to begin._

"_Carlo Davide, __comportati bene!__ Leave your brother alone!" Their mother scolded, landing a slap on Carlo's knee. _

"_Matty started it!" Carlo smiled, sliding his arm around Matthew's shoulders, annoyingly. _

_Matthew sucked his upper lip while trying to escape his brother's hold._

"_No, he didn't, Carlo. Leave him alone." Nicky muttered, as his fingernails found a familiar place on his wrist. _

_Nicky glimpsed his father's eyes on him in the rear-view, before the man barked at his middle child. "Carlo Davide, I will stop this car and teach you a lesson right now, young man!" _

_Carlo dropped his arms and instead folded his hands in his lap, solemnly. Not to be fooled, Nicky knew this peace was only temporary._

_He caught his father's eye in the rear-view one last time before he slid his hand up his sleeve and scraped his nails deeper over his scabbed wrists._

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><p>"I don't know, baby. Whatever you think." Chris gripped the phone tighter, completely aware that he'd said the wrong thing. In truth, he couldn't concentrate on the wedding or the stag or anything that wasn't trying not to get fired. He was angry, restless, and his superiors had his ass under a microscope. All because of Nicky and his coming clean about burying his childhood abuse, Chris was viewed as having betrayed his brothers in blue. He was a traitor to all.<p>

Chris had tried to help Nicky, tried to help him deal without revealing anything. He had tried to do the right thing and get him the help he needed of family, the captain off his ass, and a shrink even, but still no one trusted him. He didn't like the position he'd been put in. He didn't ask to be there without any allies and he couldn't take the new image the rest of the force viewed him in. He wasn't this person. He hated being hated.

"Are you listening to me? Christopher!"

Chris breathed deeply before responding. "Babe, I hear you, but I am having the worst day possible. I can't think about any of this right now. You're doing a good job. I trust you. Just… whatever you think, Emily."

"This isn't just my wedding, Chris. I'm not just going to plan it all the way I want and then find out years later that you hated it. And you know, I don't exactly have all the time in the world, either. UPenn finals are coming up and I'm only halfway through marking term papers. Dr. Geist is riding me like a…like something you ride, I don't know! But he wants them done. SO if you want to get married…!"

"Getting married? Who said anything about that?" He waited a beat, sure he didn't need to test the waters, because the ice was pretty damn thin already. "Look, can we at least talk about this when I get home? I've gotta go get doors slammed in my face."

"That's not a bad idea." Emily breathed, clearly having reached the end of her patience.

"Just tell me you love me."

Chris hung up the phone, feeling confident that he could at least make one right decision. Emily was the love of his life and he needed her more than he needed his bulletproof vest. He lacked words to describe how she made him feel and it made him smile, knowing that her Ivy League education provided her with the ability to describe what they had between them just fine and beautifully at that.

He found himself a sweet little school girl on her way to becoming a Political Science Professor. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and she found a way to leave Chris breathless every day. She was incredible and Chris felt he was the luckiest man alive.

Chris stuffed his phone in his pocket and looked up with a smile, still enchanted by his fiancée's voice. His gaze met Sergeant Conseiko's in the driver's seat next to him, who tore off a bite of his burger with a shit-eating grin. Chris felt his mood deplete instantly.

"Who you talking to, Rivera? Nicky? He's the only one you call 'baby', ain't he?"

Chris forced a chuckle, feeling his fists clench, heedlessly. "If I didn't know better, Jacob, I'd think you were trying to get your ass kicked."

Conseiko slurped his soda and spoke with a mouth as smart as it was full of food. "You better watch how you talk to your superior, Rivera. I could get you suspended with no pay. That pretty fiancée of yours wouldn't like that much, would she?"

Chris grabbed the sergeant by his white collar and pushed his forearm, painfully, into his scrawny chest. "You're harassing me and it's going to stop right here, right now. I could file a complaint against you faster than I could flatten that filthy little nose of yours. After I do that, not even daddy-in-law could get you that promotion." He released him slightly to gather a firmer grip. Conseiko jumped at the quick maneuvering. "And if you ever do so much as look at my fiancée again, I'll put you through the pavement." He said lowly, before letting the idiot go.

Climbing from the car, Chris pulled out a file with him and opened it on the roof. He read the reports from front to cover, finding what he already knew. They were searching for witnesses to a kidnapping of a twelve-year-old boy, last seen getting into a wood panelled station wagon three days prior. The boy's mother called in a panic, against the wishes of her friends and neighbours for infuriating racial reasons. Chris knew better than any of his co-workers that growing up in racially segregated neighbourhoods caused strife in the community. But his father was a navy seal, thus earning his family a status that could not be ignored.

He, unlike many of his own family members, did not grow up in a poor neighbourhood. He grew up down the street from Nicky's family in Jersey City, used to being the black kid in an Italian dominated city. Despite the kinds of anecdotes one could conjure up with that knowledge, Chris enjoyed his childhood the way it unravelled. He didn't find himself the subject of prejudices for being Black any more than Nicky did for being a 'wop'. Unfortunately, Philadelphia was a different story.

"I say we pan out. These people are scared. These are mothers scared for their children."

"That's all the more reason for them to tell us what they know so we can catch this mother fucker!" Conseiko yelled, unnecessarily, as he too pulled himself from the car. "It's been more than 72 hours, they should know that he's dead and the sicko's looking for his next vic."

Chris tightened his jaw and answered him, convincingly. "What don't you understand about, they don't trust cops? We're supposed to show them that we're helping them not, 'we failed, so put the lives of your children in our hands'. We're lookin' for a brown panelled station wagon. How many of those do you see around these days? We should be looking for witnesses who've seen a car like that go by."

"And we haven't been doin' that? What's your point, Rivera?"

"We're not asking the right people. We should be talking to convenience store employees, grocery stores, porn shops, elementary schools."

"We've already analyzed gas station footage and pulled up nothin'. It could be stolen and he ditched it after he snatched the boy."

"If he ditched it we would've found it by now, which means he's hiding it. Paedophiles don't just snatch any kid, they usually know them and stalk them. The kid got in the car willingly, which indicates that he knew him. We're talkin' teacher, neighbour, or just someone he ran into often enough to arouse." Chris regretted wording it that way, immediately.

"We're asking people if they by chance happened to catch the license plate number of an old car three days ago."

"We're asking if they saw anything out of the norm? If they happen to know the kind of guy who'd drive such a piece of shit car. At least this way we might get something in particular to ask these people."

"Sounds damn good to me." Conseiko said, returning to the driver's seat. "You are good for something, Rivera. Who knew?"

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><p>Shawn had stared at the dark ceiling above him for hours before he finally gave up on the hope for sleep and rolled until his feet hit the floor. It hurt; his ankle was still sore from his sprint from the party with Cory, also sparking memories of why he had run in the first place.<p>

Despite how terrified he'd become, Shawn hadn't the slightest idea of who that creepy guy in the tree line could have been.

The anxiety was weighing on his young, fragile body and no sooner after having gotten out of bed did he feel compelled to lay back down, this time on the living room couch. He put on an episode of the Simpsons, finding himself unable to turn off his cluttered mind.

Shawn couldn't help but think that this freak who had visited him in his bedroom and now stalked him to a party could be someone he knew. What if he was not one of Eddie's friends. He was older. Too old to be hanging around with Eddie's crowd. And somehow, the notion of a complete stranger stalking and terrifying him was even more unsettling, which left him with a gut wrenching feeling.

What if it was Chet? What if it was someone Chet knew? He imagined what Jonathon would say if he told him. In between yelling at him, he'd probably concede that Chet was simply trying to intimidate Shawn into denying Chet's guilt in abusing him. But even Shawn knew that it was a long shot and a huge risk to do something so stupid. Not that Shawn thought his father was above that kind of act, but he just didn't think he'd ever be able to come up with a scheme of that nature on his own.

Shawn turned his head slowly having felt Jonathon's presence without needing him to announce himself. His gaze lingered on the screen until the scene ended and he reluctantly shifted his eyes to find his guardian to explain why he'd gotten out of bed. But he couldn't find him.

Shawn felt his blood run cold in his veins. He muted the TV and sat, holding his breath in silence. No other noise besides a ticking clock could be heard for miles.

"Jon?" Shawn whispered, afraid his voice would muffle any movement in the apartment. "Jon, is that you?"

Sitting there in nothing but light from the TV was uncanny and suddenly, Shawn became wary that he was nothing but a sitting duck. He jumped off the couch and tripped over the coffee table, barely catching his balance. He was further from the TV light and facing a good square footage that was drenched in darkness.

Abruptly, there was a bang and the only thing preventing Shawn from hitting the floor fearing his life was the loud, ear-splitting meow that followed. He edged slowly toward the kitchen window and found a brown cat dusting off his paws next to the dumpster.

In time with Shawn's belated exhale, another bang sounded that did not originate from the back parking lot. It was the sound of a door slamming, which sent Shawn running back towards the couch. He heard a squeak. No, it was a scrape and it reminded him of that absurd folklore about the ghost with the hook for a hand.

It wasn't a hook; however, he was correct about the noise. It was metal scraping against metal. It was the turning of the front doorknob and Shawn watched it twist, slowly and dauntingly from his post on the couch until it could turn no more.


	3. Chapter 3

Sooo... I think I'm just going to have to stop making promises... I'm busy and my priorities lay with school and getting into law school. I really love to write and this story, I'll be honest with you, I still think a lot about even though I'm not writing it, it's fun. I plan to finish it and it could take me some time but I don't forget the ideas I come up with when I'm daydreaming in lecture. I will not leave you hanging indefinitely. I may take unannounced hiatus' but I will finish. So thanks for sticking it out with me and thanks for your lovely comments. I hope you like this chapter :)

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><p>Shawn felt his heart thudding in his chest. The pulsating sound filled his ears, as he strained himself waiting for the door to finally open. It didn't. Shawn stared at the knob while counting the seconds in anticipation. However, there was nothing left to be heard except his own heavy breathing.<p>

After the several minutes it took to muster up the courage, Shawn leaped over the back of the couch from his perch there, hidden behind the cushions. He hesitated briefly, awaiting any further noise.

As his heart rate began to even, Shawn remained frozen between the living room and the bedrooms, staring at the locked front door before him. Shawn, having just heard that door slam shut, was sure that someone had just left the apartment…and locked the door behind them.

Shawn felt a chill overcome him at the thought and his breathing hitched, as he ran his hands over goose bump covered arms. He shot toward the bedrooms, seeking a type of weapon. He skidded in front of Jonathan's bedroom door, instantly forgetting his original plan in desperation. He opened the door and wasted no time in waking his guardian.

"Jon! Jon, there was someone in the apartment! I think they have a key! Jon, wake up!"

Jonathan was barely asleep for an hour when he found Shawn standing over him. "What is it, kid?" He asked, rolling onto his elbow.

The 15-year old was looking green and shaking so violently, he was almost vibrating. "It's…It's…" He was suddenly incapable of speech.

Jonathan rewound the words that stole him from his unconsciousness. When the shock struck him, he thought his heart was about to pop out of his chest. "What did you say, buddy? Someone broke in, again? Shawn, talk to me!" Jonathan had his hands on the kid's shoulders, as he yanked himself from his bed. Never before had he ever despised the peacefulness of sleep. In this moment, he was enlightened to its illusionary safety. Evidently, his house was vulnerable when Jonathan was unconscious.

There were tears dripping from Shawn's chin by the time Jonathan could force him to sputter out a word. "Someone…Someone slammed the door! They're comin' to get me, Jon!" He was frantic.

"Stay here, boy." Jonathan said, coolly. He felt something cold bursting through his veins. His body stiffened and his eyes saw nothing besides the urge to pounce. He was primal, he was targeted in his natural habitat, he must protect his own.

Jonathan grabbed the bat that he kept ready at the door. A heavy, Louisville slugger — signed by Dan Driessen — but an effective choice of weaponry, since his arsenal was running a tad nonexistent. He turned on every light in the apartment, making as much noise as possible to divert any intruder from making a break for it. He hadn't wanted to swing his bat more since he was on the varsity team in college and his coach ordered him to bunt. He scanned the living room and kitchen first, gradually moving from room to room, closet to closet, until he confirmed that the apartment was, indeed, empty. He stopped outside his bedroom door and frowned. _What did he say? …a key? _

Jonathan spun around, his bat poised firmly over his shoulder. The front door was locked. The door knob, the dead bolt…everything except the chain. The chain that Jonathan checked every night religiously before turning in. He was so sure he'd latched the door just hours before that he felt sick to his stomach.

He burst into the bedroom — he felt guilty when he realized he almost gave the kid a heart attack — and picked Shawn up off the floor. "This is really important, Shawn. Did you unlatch the chain on the door, tonight? It's okay if you did. I won't be mad. I just need you tell me the truth. Did you go out tonight, Shawn?"

"I didn't! I swear, Jon!" Jonathan couldn't have pulled a different reaction out of the kid if he'd put a gun to his head.

"Shawn, shhh. It's okay. You're not in trouble! Just tell me the truth. Was the chain on the door when you went to bed?"

"I didn't go to bed! I'm sorry! I was just watching TV!" Shawn was already inconsolable.

"I don't care about that. It's okay. You can watch TV." Jonathan paused, wondering why Shawn didn't already know that. "So you're sure you didn't take the chain off the door?"

"Yes! I swear."

Jonathan couldn't swallow when he tried. "Okay, here's what you're going to do. Go in your room and get dressed. Pack some clothes for tomorrow in your schoolbag and make it quick."

Shawn's eyes grew wide. "What? Why? I didn't do anything! I—"

Jonathan could hardly accept what he was hearing, but now wasn't the time to fret over the boy's lack of dignity. He put a hand behind his neck and gave him his most meaningful look. "You didn't do anything. It's not safe for us to stay here. Someone broke in and I don't know how, but we need to go somewhere else. You go pack a bag, right now, and be back here in five minutes, okay? Do you understand?"

It took a few seconds, but Shawn eventually nodded.

"Good boy. Don't think, okay? Just do as I say. Everything's gonna be okay, Hunter. I promise."

The kid went flying out the door just as Jonathan's breathing began to escalate. What was it about this boy? Why couldn't he be left alone? Jonathan had had no idea what it meant when he promised to protect Shawn. He'd had no idea what he was agreeing to protect him from.

Shawn was back in an instant, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, his backpack slung over his shoulder. "I'm ready," he told his guardian, running both hands through his hair. "Let's get out of here."

Jonathan nodded, stepping into a pair of his own jeans. He hated the feeling of his leather jacket on his sweat dampened arms, but was too pressed for time to care. He grabbed his wallet off his dresser and found his keys in his jeans pocket. "Okay."

He followed Shawn out into the living room before he stopped him. "Wait. Let me go first." He said, sticking his arm out in front of Shawn's chest from behind.

Shawn didn't argue like the kid Jonathan once knew would have. He fell into step behind Jonathan, inserting a firm hand around Jonathan's bicep.

When Jonathan opened the door, he half expected to be shanghai'd by the intruder himself. But the hallway was empty, silent, and ominous. Jonathan locked the door behind him, keeping a grip on Shawn while he had his back turned. He spun around instinctively, still to an empty hallway, and led Shawn out to the parking lot like he were blind. He took off on the Harley at 90 mph, having no idea where to head.

* * *

><p>Carlo and Nicky bickered all the way to Connecticut. He probably thought his insolence served as a distraction, but realistically, Nicky's anxiety was off the charts since he climbed into the Chevy Impala with Carlo.<p>

Once they pulled up in front of the student centre at Yale University, Nicky felt two doses of dread and one of relief to see his baby brother standing there with a duffel bag over his shoulder. The look on Matthew's face accounted for the surge of anxiety that ran through him, but damn it'd been so long. The kid had grown up.

Nicky leaped from the car before Matthew could even reach the handle. He looked surprised, but like a switch he dropped his bag abruptly and his face lit up like a match.

"Matty!" Nicky croaked, crushing his brother in a firm hug. "What did you do with my baby brother?" He released him. "What's that? There's a squirrel on your face, kid." He joked, slapping Matthew's prickled face.

"I didn't even know you were coming, Nick! This is great." Matthew grinned, simultaneously accepting a hug from Carlo.

Carlo slipped Matthew into a headlock, messing up his hair in due process. "That's right the boys are back in town. What do you think, Nick? Will we make his life complete hell this week or just a little?" He jested, giving Matthew a few pretend punches before letting him straighten.

"Ah, I don't know. It's been a long time and I'm sure he's got a few ass kickings comin' to him. Like taking over my room. Eh, what's up with that?" Nicky teased, shoving him, lightly.

Matthew laughed. "Hey, you should take that up with Ma. I mean, you should've heard her after the two of you left. I received full confirmation that Ma and Pop love me best."

Nicky caught the look Carlo was giving him. "Mhmm, like we didn't already know that."

The car in behind the boys honked suddenly, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere, wanting their spot for pickups.

Nicky watched Matthew blush as he suggested, "maybe we should hit the road."

Carlo went around to the driver's side, while Matthew made a move for shotgun.

"You wish, kid." Nicky laughed, knocking him back. He paused. "Still working off that freshman fifteen, huh?"

After being on the road for a mere twenty minutes, the brothers were back to bickering.

"Gimme a break! You can't just write off a whole restaurant because you got a bad hotdog. It's a pizza place not a street meat vendor. They do pizza. That's it."

Matthew choked down his soda, eager to retort and unwilling to wait for minor things like swallowing to do it. "There was a _fingernail _in it! A fingernail! Not just a clipping, a whole nail. That has nothing to do with a recipe and everything to do with sanitary violations. And, by the way, the fact that you just referred to a hotdog stand as if it's gourmet standard makes your opinion heretofore invalid."

Carlo snorted. "'Heretofore invalid'? Oh, I'm sorry professor. I forgot I was talking to Dr. Who."

"Shut up, you're an idiot." Matthew sulked in the backseat, evidently nothing having changed since his teen-angst days.

Nicky, having just warmed up enough to participate, chimed in. "I might have to walk home, your voice is starting to make my ears bleed."

"Yeah, you do that. Skinny little faggot_. _Probably fall on your ass after 2 miles and wither away in an hour." And just like that, Nicky regretted coming along at all. Carlo was so breezy when he said it. It was so quick off the tongue, like he'd been thinking it. The words were sitting right there at the brink just waiting for one slip of the tongue to come spilling out. It was the kind of thing they would've said to each other as teenagers, but they weren't teenagers anymore. Now it was laced with an underlying meaning. Now it was pure conviction.

"Excuse me? Faggot? You think I'm a faggot? Why do you think, Carlo? What piece of information do you have on me that might make you think that? Why don't you pull over right now so I can beat the shit out of you?!" Nicky had spent fifteen years taking it on the chin, but he wore no armour these days.

"Jesus, Nicky. You know I didn't mean it like that. I'm used to messing around with my brother. That's all this is." Carlo didn't pull over, but his attention was completely drawn away from the road.

Nicky could hardly believe that this guy had a perfect driving record. "Pull the fuck over." His voice was icy.

"Come on, Nicky. Take it easy. He was just kidding." Matthew tried, sitting forward.

Nicky's eyes shot daggers at the young man. "Shut up."

"It's okay, Matty." Carlo was onto the shoulder and slamming on the breaks a second later.

"Get out."

Carlo scoffed. "What are you doing? Leaving me here?"

"I said, get out!" Nicky bellowed, his ears popping at the abrupt volume.

When Carlo had finally capitulated and stood at the passenger side on the dusty shoulder, Nicky opened his door and climbed out.

He could feel Matthew lingering behind him. "Let's get one thing straight." His voice was loud enough to overcome the noise of the highway.

Carlo let his brother approach him, as his brow creased with concern. "Nicky, you need to calm down."

"You think I'm so weak. Sure, you all do. Well, I'll tell ya something. Even at my weakest point, I can still kick your ass six ways from Sunday. I'm your big brother and I've been beatin' your ass since the day you've been born."

Carlo stifled a laugh. "Are you kidding me? You wanna have a pissing contest? Nicky, you are so out of line!"

"Come on, guys. Let's just go home." Matthew moaned, a hint of fear in his voice.

"I don't want to have a pissing contest! I want you to stop looking at me like that and respect me the way you used to!" Nicky couldn't feel anything but rage. He enclosed the distance between him and Carlo, grabbing his collar roughly. "What the hell do I do to be who I used to be?!"

Carlo's eyes were full of tears and Nicky was about to give up when he felt Matthew's hands on his arms. He swiftly spun around and his right hook collided with Matthew's cheek.

The kid fell to the ground with a groan.

"SHIT!" Before Nicky could react, Carlo had him pinned. He slammed him against the Impala and Nicky felt himself crumble on the inside.

He did it again before he spoke. "You listen to me. You can't be who you used to be! Don't you see that?! That was a lie! Just look at yourself. You did this to YOURSELF!" His voice was furious, but the way his hands trembled around Nicky told him he was just as fearful.

Nicky could feel tears on his cheeks, but lacked the mobility to hide it beneath the weight of his brother. "Just let me go." He choked, his shame stemming from his lack of strength. Everything he'd said was a lie. He couldn't fight Carlo. He was bigger and stronger, but mostly he was better. Better by every definition.

Carlo stole a glance over his shoulder at Matthew, who was just beginning to climb to his feet. Carlo's grip got stronger. "You ever lay a hand on him again, I'll put you out for a week. Do you understand me?"

Nicky felt sick. The thought of himself completely nauseated him. He was the monster he tried to suppress. He was everything he hated. "I'm not gay." The whole of it. Everything boiled down to a definition and now not even that applied.

Carlo shook his head. "No. You're just sick."

* * *

><p>Jonathan wasted no time in making his decision. He felt it impossible to make a wrong one when he could feel Shawn's arms around his waist, holding on for dear life in more ways than one. He needed Jonathan to put his feelings aside. He needed the best.<p>

The frustration that Jonathan felt revolved around his notion of injustice. Once, the boy on the back of his bike was the battered son of a drunk. Then, he was the battered son of a drunk and the plaything of his half-brother child molester. Now, he's the battered son of a drunk, the plaything of a child molester, and the target of a degenerate stalker. Jonathan feared tomorrow for the boy.

When Jonathan first brought Shawn to the police, he had a team of detectives, who despite minor differences — Nicky's intuition that Shawn was hiding a key piece of the puzzle and that it was Jonathan's treatment of him — gave Jonathan the support he needed and faith to carry him into the next morning. But somehow he was only down to one detective, a lawyer who — though attractive — wouldn't leave Jonathan alone about the trial, and a half-shattered life that he couldn't piece together even if he tried.

He ignored Shawn when they pulled up in front of Nicky's apartment building in stead of the police station. This man had given Shawn's case everything he had to give and more. He gave up his safeguard when he thought Shawn was going to jump off of the hospital roof. He made Jonathan believe that he could get Shawn past this horrible reality and then he disappeared.

He understood that it wasn't easy. He understood what it did to Nicky. After all, he had witnessed the scene of Chris and Nicky's father carrying his drunken mess of a son out from that very building to his car. Perhaps it was fear, or maybe it was that notion of injustice that made Jonathan believe that he had to prevent things from getting any worst than they already were even if fate begged for it. Maybe he was selfish, but Jonathan felt no guilt when he silenced a frantic Shawn, led him up the stairs, and began to hammer on the door of Nicky's apartment.

* * *

><p>I know that some of you asked for more scenes with Cory in it, so I'm sorry I couldn't deliver. It's just that since I decided to make this story about Shawn and not Cory, I had to pull in a lot of outside characters to help secure a background for his character. Now with all of those storylines going on it's hard to write in the main character of the actual show, because I neglected to tie him in with this character arc. Personally, I don't see much need for Cory in this story. Don't misunderstand me, I do intend on bringing him in, but just like in real life, he'll have a lot of trouble understanding Shawn's situation and will see that it's probably best that he gives his friend a little space until he gets everything together. If you recall, The Matthews' hired a Private Investigator to help with Shawn's case in the second book, so I intend on giving the whole family another go at being involved in the story. I know it's been a long time and I've brought in a lot of events, but try to remember them all because they're all about to tie in and make one really big event that is coming really close to happening.<p>

Thanks for putting up with me! Let me know what your thoughts are on what I've said, your ideas, and thoughts on this chapter. Thanks you guys, I'll update again soon.

xoxo Meg


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